


101 Ways to be Fabulous and Get All the Boys

by Illmerica



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4199673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illmerica/pseuds/Illmerica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, Matthew had probably done a lot weirder things with his brother than just wear a dress. That didn't mean he was happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	101 Ways to be Fabulous and Get All the Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Well this was definitely something I wrote at some point of my life, probably a year or two back.

The girl posed in front of the mirror was hot.

How could she not be? With her curly chin length hair and big blue eyes, and _even with_ her admittedly generous amount of makeup, she was an absolute knock-out. A classic Hollywood blonde bombshell, if you would.

Her outfit of choice was small and tight and somewhat scandalous, composed of only a sparkling golden crop top – with a _ridiculously_ low neckline that somehow still worked – tucked into a black high-waisted skirt that hardly reached the middle of her thighs. The dorky yet somehow fashionable jewelry, with such preteen-suited items as hair feathers and those annoyingly loud chunky bracelets, had been added last minute for that out-of-place flair that the fashion world seemed to admire.

The girl posed in front of the mirror was Matthew’s brother.

And Matthew was the girl sulking next to him.

“I hate you.” Matthew hissed, pulling at the hem of his dress in frustration. “I hate you _so much_ right now and you really need to know that.”

The contacts he’d been forced to exchange his usual glasses with felt like they were beginning to slide upwards to his lid, his own silly-looking but eerily realistic wig had started to itch ten minutes ago, the pads in his bra were _really_ cold, and he was missing the _Are You Afraid of the Dark?_ marathon with James that he’d been looking forward to all week. 

His Friday night wasn’t going well and, in all honesty, Matthew didn’t have much hope of it getting any better.

Alfred just rolled his eyes and turned around to examine his ass in the skirt. Despite the thick layers of black pleated materials, he still somehow managed to have an amazing ass in the stupid dress. It was almost unnatural.

Though, if Matthew really thought about it, unnatural was the only way to describe most things about Alfred. Probably, like, 99% of things about him. _Maybe_ 98.

“You don’t have to be jealous because I can work this way better than you can. It’s not my fault you had to go all ‘conservative’ or whatever; you wouldn’t even _try_ the outfit I had picked out for you, Mattie.” Alfred huffed, his lips pursed in annoyance. “That really hurt my feelings, y’know.”

Which was _absolutely_ true – well, the outfit part of it anyway, Matthew could have cared less about how he’d hurt his brother’s feelings. The original clothing options had been nothing short of horrific, with leather shorts and fishnet _galore_ , and Matthew hadn’t exactly stood for it, not after the chaffing from those damn shorts last time. It had been a battle, but Alfred eventually relented and let him get away with something much more tame, not to mention comfortable. He’d even been able to ditch the heels, a miracle in of itself. Though, the wig was still not only _unavoidable_ but _not up for debate_ , and not to mention ridiculous. Matthew had yet to meet a single girl during his hundreds of years of existence with hair that passed their pelvis that were actually _happy_ about it.

Still, there was no torture that had matched that of the sudden wax on his legs and armpits.

His skin was still red enough to be raw.

“I’m not walking around _naked_ in Las Vegas just because you and your boyfriend wanted to go clubbing and gambling, or _whatever else_. In the _middle of winter_.”

Alfred poked at his nails, which had been trimmed, polished, and painted a sparkle-covered gold. They looked good, almost professionally done. “You were just going to sit around and watch TV all night. Then probably complain about how tired you were tomorrow.” He countered. “This way you’re not wasting a perfectly good Friday night, doing nothing with you _shut-in_ of a man.”

Matthew put his hands on his hips, but immediately retracted them once he’d realized what he’d done. “Like _Allen_ is any better.” He glared.

“Yeah.” Alfred looked up with a grin. “Al’s a total freak, but at least I can admit it.”

He bit back his next comment, completely aware of how it would be useless in the end and Alfred’s comment would just serve to annoy him _more_ , Matthew glanced over to his wristwatch. It had been confiscated after Alfred had lured him upstairs into his room with the promise of hockey memorabilia and thrown on Alfred’s desk, along with the rest of Matthew’s belongings and dignity. He wrinkled his nose at the time.  

“Where is Allen anyway? It’s already eight, Las Vegas is half an hour away, and he still isn’t here.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow at him. “‘Where is he’? Whaddya mean?” At those words, Matthew returned the quirk with his own eyebrow, his expression much less amused. “Al got here earlier this morning to help me with our plans, and get most of this stuff together. He’s been here all day. Did you _seriously_ not notice him on the couch when you got here?”

Matthew shook his head with a sigh. “Okay, still.” He said, jerking his shoulders in a ‘ _I give up_ ’ sort of fashion. “If you two wanted to go out tonight so bad that you had to _drag me_ into _drag_ , then why are we still just standing around? I thought we were waiting for Allen to get here. Wasn’t this entire thing _his_ idea?”

“Well, yeah, pretty much. The whole cross-dressing thing is more up Al’s alley, I’m just really fucking awesome at it, y’know? I mean, just _look_ at me. If I wasn’t me, and I was another girl but still me, I would _so_ tap that.” He smirked into the reflection once again, licking his finger and making a slow _hiss_ when he touched it to his hip. “Smokin’ hot.” Alfred winked.

Matthew rolled his eyes. “Only _you_ can say that, while you _actually are_ ‘tapping’ yourself.” He stated, completely aware of the hypocrisy in the statement.

“Well then, I guess I’m just smokin’ hot, no matter the version.”

“Of course, Alfred.” Matthew rolled his eyes again, reveling in the the relief of releasing some sass. And probably a few more words that started with the letter ‘R’. “Then, if it isn’t me and it isn’t Allen, what are you guys waiting for?”

At the mischievous grin on Alfred’s face – one that was decidedly just a tad too dark for his usual sunny disposition, a clear sign he’d been spending too much time with his boyfriend – Matthew silently, and mournfully, accepted his fate. If this was the worst the night would get, there would be no need for the gleam in his eyes.

Almost as if the expression had been some kind of cue, the doorbell went off. A voice from downstairs, which was undoubtedly Allen’s, called upstairs, though Matthew could catch what he said. Alfred just snorted, so unladylike that Matthew had half a mind to correct him through bitterness.

“Just give us a sec’!” Alfred called back downstairs, with another snort. “This’ll be _great_.” He added in a much lower voice, probably more to himself than anyone else.

Grabbing Matthew’s shoulder’s with way too much force – what a _jerk_ – he steered the unfortunate Canadian out of his bedroom. Alfred, and Matthew by unlucky extension, tore down the stairs, to the bottom where Allen was waiting as promised. Both oddly and annoyingly enough, he wasn’t in one of his expected and usual frill covered dresses, instead just a pair casual jeans and a blank t-shirt with one of his smirks that Matthew had learned to associate with stupid, not to mention _bad_ , things to come. Even with that, Matthew’s dignity was much more focused on the pants.

He wasn’t jealous or anything, he was just wondering why _he_ couldn’t have worn some. Like, pants that weren’t made of leather or included fishnet tights.

Alfred apparently caught the hesitantly annoyed expression on his face and laughed at his brother, giving him a hard but encouraging slap on the back. Matthew sent a glare as he coughed into his fist while the other returned it with a half-apologetic smile and shrug.

“Ladies, ladies!” Allen rolled his eyes and snickered. He hands coils of rope to Alfred, one of the older skillets from Alfred’s kitchen in his free hand. “You both look beautiful. Now look alive, we’ve got one more little damsel to catch, and he isn’t gullible enough to fall for that hockey shit.”

Matthew sent him a brief scowl. He wasn’t _gullible_ , he just trusted in his brother even when he knew he really shouldn’t because his brother was a total dick.

“You climb out the window?”

Allen nodded, his grin much more pointed at the tips. Devious. “I climb out the window.”

Matthew sighed and glanced between the two. Whatever this was, it was probably going to be both incredibly stupid and half-suicidal. Maybe he should just go back upstairs until they finished. He didn’t exactly feel like getting arrested again because of his brother, and then having to explain to his Prime Minister why he was dressed up like a woman. Harper wouldn’t be very happy with him.

The doorbell rang again, that time followed closely by the pounding of a fist. Some shouted words accompanied the noise, but the thick soundproofed wood of Alfred’s door muted them to the point that Matthew couldn’t make out the words themselves nor their owner.

The Americans shared a look before Allen turned and bolted back into the kitchen, skillet still in hand. Matthew sent Alfred a frown, but it was ignored and he was shoved in front of the door instead. It moved slightly as whoever was on the other side rapt against the door again, clearly putting more strength into their knock then was really necessary. Allen or Alfred had probably done something to make them annoyed, then.

Alfred leaned against Matthew’s back and whispered into his ear. “Just give me a sec to hide behind the stairs and then answer the door, ‘kay?” He shook his head negative, but Alfred had already scampered off in the opposite direction, dragging the rope coils with him. Matthew sighed.

He shouldn’t help them. He _shouldn’t_ , but...

It was pretty rude to leave a guest just standing around outside.

Then again. Matthew looked down at himself with another sigh. Then _again_.

Matthew _really shouldn’t_.

With one final and heaving sigh, Matthew tugged down at his dress and cleared his throat. The door shook with another round of violent knocking, and he waited for it to finish before he unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

James stared at him. Matthew stared back. “Hey.”

“You ditched our marathon to wear a dress.”

Matthew nodded. “Involuntarily.”

He seemed to take that into consideration, still looking Matthew up and down in bored kind of fascination. “You look pretty good.”

“Thanks.” He said, blinking his left eye exclusively to try to force the contact that down. “I guess I do.”

Then Matthew noticed something peeking around the walkway corner, just behind James. He blinked and opened his mouth to say something, but paused when Allen raised a finger to his lips. And winked. Ugh; he and Alfred were way too alike. He still had the skillet in his hand and, with a frown, Matthew could see where everything was going. Well, at least he probably wouldn’t get arrested this time. Probably.

“So,” James continued after a moment, still taking in Matthew’s new appearance. It wasn’t too surprising that he seemed so casual about the situation, not with adamant drag queen for a brother. “You want me to kill ‘em for it? Torture? It’s your call.”

“Eh, I’m fine. It wasn’t really that bad this time.”

“If you’re sure.”

It was a lie – a pretty obvious one too, because his legs were _still_ _burning_ despite the dumb wax being hours ago, and Matthew was kinda worried they would never actually stop that – but he didn’t really want James to kill them again. That was reserved for the really serious situations only, like when Allen had tried to cheat during their hockey match in Sochi. There had been no mercy that night.

“I mean, _you_ might want to after this.” Matthew shrugged again. It was only fair to give him a _little bit_ of a warning, or something cryptically similar. Allen and Alfred had the element of surprise on their side, after all.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his conscience told him that he was a terrible boyfriend. He was letting them get away with screwing with his boyfriend, and that wasn’t what good boyfriends did. But. On the _other hand_ , Matthew really wanted to see what James looked like as a girl. Even though curiosity killed the cat, he reasoned, satisfaction _did_ bring it back.

James raised an eyebrow at him. “What are you talking about, Chickade–”

Even though he had seen it coming, Matthew still winced when James crashed onto the cobblestone walkway, half into those little decorative bushes Alfred had forced him to help plant last summer. Allen just smirked and laughed, twirling his skillet and nodding.

“The crazy Hungarian chick was right.” He tossed the skillet up and let it spin, before he caught it with the opposite hand. “These things work pretty damn good.” Allen snorted and ran a hand through his hair. “Still, nothin’ beats my bat. She’s a total fuckin’ _beast_.”

Matthew stooped to his knees and, with a little bit of work, flipped James face up. Brushing his fingers over the knot just above his temple, he winced again. Maybe he was a sucky boyfriend but, uh, still. James in a dress.

Though, a hit like that for someone with Allen’s particular strength – it was really nowhere  _close_ to Alfred’s ridiculous levels, something he’d always held over the burnet’s head no matter the situation, but probably also the reason Allen was the one assigned to knock out James while Alfred just tied him up; it would take longer to heal  the damage if his head had been knocked clean off – would easily kill any regular, and while James was definitely _dead_ he would probably wake back up in a little less than an hour. Things like blunt force trauma to the skull healed the quickest, after all.

“Hey! Porkchop! Hurry the fuck up and get out here! We’ve still gotta get this fatass upstairs!” Allen shouted, squatting beside his brother and dropping the skillet in the bushes.

Alfred’s head poked out the still-open door and he pouted, the ropes loosely looped around his wrist and now caught in his bracelets. “You killed him?” He asked, exasperated. “What the hell. Dude, I wanted to try out my rope tying skills!”

“Oh, yeah. _Of course_.” Matthew muttered, standing up so he wouldn’t be in their way and pulling down on his dress as he did. It wasn’t like he really wanted anyone to see the stupid panties he’d been forced to wear; they had lace on them. _Lace_. Just the thought itself was enough to make him shiver in disgust. “The fact that he might just wake up with _brain damage_ isn’t actually anything to be worried about.”

The bitter complaint had really just been to himself, but Alfred seemed to be really good at catching on to everything Matthew did that day. “Don’t be so dramatic, Mattie.” He waved a dismissive hand and copied Allen’s position, but more towards his torso. “He isn’t strong enough to give _anyone_ brain damage.”

Allen sneered at him. “Shut up and pick his damn head up, before I give _you_ brain damage.” He threatened.

Alfred snickered but did as he was told, while Allen made a small sound of exertion as he lifted up the dead weight of the legs. It was almost a funny sight as the two – or, technically, three if the dead body counted – headed into the house. The surprisingly tall but still curvaceous woman, with the tiny skirt and hair feathers and high heels and everything else, hefting up almost all of the limp but broad–shouldered man, while the other _non-dead_ man struggled with just the legs. Matthew would have laughed a lot harder than he did, if the dead body hadn’t been his boyfriend. He still laughed though.

“You too!” Allen threw his head back to scowl at him, teeth bared. “Stop fuckin’ laughing or I’ll cave your skull in!”

It wasn’t until James had been deposited on the guest bed and Allen was trying not to breath hard that Matthew asked the logical question of what they were planning on doing next. After all, James was going to wake up in about forty minutes, give or take, and it took Alfred that long just to do his own wig and make-up. A corpse probably wouldn’t cooperate as well.

Alfred laughed. “Well, dearest younger _sister_ of mine–”

“I’m older than you.”

He didn’t even bat an eye. “ _Now_ comes the fun part that he’ll totally kill us for later.” Alfred clasped his hands together and grinned, almost to the point that he looked innocent, _almost_ ; Matthew knew better. “Makeover time!” He sang, sing-song and obviously excited.

“Once we finished with James, we can finally leave this damn house and hit up some fuckin’ clubs and casinos. I’ll be chaperoning you three _lovely_  'ladies', of course, in case some prick gets any funny ideas.” Allen said as he started to dig through the ridiculous multi-story makeup case. “Oh, and don’t worry about James. I’ll talk him down when he wakes up, and if that doesn’t work I’ll just fuckin’ _take_ him down. My bat’s downstairs and he doesn’t even have his stupid hockey stick with him. It’ll be a snap if it comes to that.”

It was almost an hour later when James woke up again, and it was almost an hour and ten minutes later when some neighbors witnessed a very muscular woman in a flower print romper throw another woman and a man from the roof of the Jones’ property while a third woman tried to persuade her to stop from the front yard. They quite promptly called the police.

And, just like Matthew had predicted, Prime Minister Harper was not amused when the representations of his nation called to ask if he could pay for their bail.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Canadian sass just never ends, and rushed ending is rushed. Blah.


End file.
